Drunk Khajiits and Dragons
by Wakkomonkey9258
Summary: Ralof the Stormcloak and Rashka the Dragonborn, a partnership formed from the beginning and three times they met afterward.


Drunk Khajiits and Dragons

Ralof tiredly raised his head and looked about his surroundings wearily, hoping to see his fellow Stormcloaks crowded around him in one of their camps. But no, instead he found himself on a rickety wagon with his hands bound and face bloodied. He remembered sourly how he and Jarl Ulfric had been ambushed and bound, then forced into wagons to be taken to the slaughter house. Ralof cursed his luck under his breath and looked back down the road they were currently traveling, seeing a half dozen other wagons crawling forward behind them. They were all most likely filled with Stormcloaks captured by the imperials, and Ralof felt a need for vengence in his heart. To avoid making a scene, he quickly looked away and scanned the passengers of his own wagon.

Across from him was a Khajiit, his legs folded under him and his tied hands clasped together. His sharp eyes were closed, but his mouth moved at a sickeningly fast rate, uttering strange words under his breath that Ralof couldn't identify. The Khajiit was muscular in build and also incredibly tall as well, with his face puffed up with fur. He looked the warrior type, one who had suffered many battles and lived to remember, judging from the many scars on his face and exposed neck. He looked to his left and saw a much more pathetic looking individual, haggard and ragged. He was dressed in soiled rags, with choppy hair and thin, easily breakable shoulders. He was curled up into a ball with his legs drawn up to his chest and his head buried in his knees. Ulfric was across from the smaller man, his head bowed and his eyes closed calmly. A rag was wrapped around his mouth, a smart safeguard to guard against Ulfric's natural shouting ability.

The wagon hit a bump and Ralof scowled as he was jossled for a moment before he managed to steady himself. Just as he had seated himself proper again, another voice made him jump again, "Displeasure does not suit you, Stormcloak."

He looked over at the Khajiit, startled. The cat's sharp, intellectual eyes were focused directly on him, and as Ralof stared at the cat in eye, he felt shivers of power run down his back, "Who are you?" He asked carefully, trying to gleam a bit of information on just who the mysterious Khajiit was.

"Well, that's a first," The Khajiit replied bemusedly, "Usually the company I keep is to busy trying to kill me to ask my name. Then again, my usual company tends to consist of bandits and imperials. But I digress, for speaking purposes, let's just say my name is Rashka."

Ralof blinked and furrowed his brow, "That's not your real name?"

"Nope, an unfortunate requirement when you have as many enemies as I do, unfortunate but necessary."

"How many other names do you have?"

"Counting first and last? Er, about thirty seven."

Ralof shook his head, "You mentioned enemies, just who are you really Rashka?"

Rashka looked up at the sky with a look of almost reverence, as if seeing the Gods themselves in the stars, "I have many titles of varying levels of importance, ranging from hero to thief, or from murderer to crusader. They all usually blend together though, I can never remember who likes me and who doesn't."

"You must be skilled to have earned all those titles," Ralof remarked, "Ever think about joining the Stormcloaks rebellion?"

"In case you didn't notice, Stormcloak, I think it's a little to late to sign up on account that we're probably all going to die in a few hours. Especially with _him_ on board," Rashka nodded at Ulfric.

"Not much of an optimist I see."

"Considering everything above my shoulders is about to be violently disconnected by a beheader, I don't see any reason to have hope."

"Perhaps the Divine might save us," Ralof suggested, "Maybe they'll send a Dragon from the legends to blow up the imperials."

Rashka's calm demeanor faltered momentarily, and Ralof could see his eyes flick up toward the sky with a look of distress before he recovered and put up his facade of calm, "I would prefer I squad of Daedras in my honest opinion, better to see the imperials sliced to pieces."

"Watch your tongues back there," One of the wagon drivers barked back at them.

"Bah!" Rashka growled, "You paper skin imperials can't take a joke."

"Watch it Khajit, or else we may stop this wagon and give you an early execution."

Rashka laughed harshly, "And spare that fool Tullius the honor of doing it himself, I doubt you would keep your rank for more than a few minutes."

The driver turned and glared at the Khajit, "Bastardizing cat!"

"Meddling imperial," Rashka countered. The imperial threw up his arms in exasperation and turned around, while the Khajit smirked in triumph.

Ralof laughed at the imperial's embarrassment while Rashka calmly allowed himself to slump in his seat, his features growing rather tired with every second. The Stormcloak noticed the sudden change and asked out of concern, "My friend, are you alright?"

"Tired," Rashka replied unsteadily, his face suddenly sagged, "Meditating takes alot out of me, it jut takes a while to feel the whole affects."

"I heard you talking to yourself," Ralof said.

"One of my few flaws I'm afraid," Rashka remarked, "I never was good at internal meditation within the mind, I tend to get drawn off by a thousand different little thoughts. Saying things is usually easier for me to concentrate on."

Ralof looked down the road, where a town was slowly beginning to appear on the horizon. It seemed like a simply, humble town that dotted the landscape of Skyrim. It wasn't where they would be executed most likely, atleast, that's what he was hoping for. "Rashka, do you fear death?"

Rashka's eyes were almost completely closed, but he still managed a coherent reply, "Yes, I do. Some may claim to wish for death in battle, I prefer the philosophy of 'Saving my own ass'. In my opinion, of course."

"Oh," Well, Ralof couldn't deny that he wasn't disappointed with his new comrade. As a Nord, he preferred bravery in the face of death as one of his principles, but he atleast recognized that not everyone was so honorable. Perhaps Rashka really was brave, he just didn't act it. Ralof was about to ask, but when he focused on the Khajit again, Rashka was already asleep.

000

When Ralof stepped off the wagon a few hours later, his entire body was groaning and phyically drained. He hadn't slept in a long time, and his constant sitting position had rendered his spine into a stiff board. Rashka had remained asleep until the final leg of the journey into Helgen, something Ralof couldn't help but envy him for. But he was to tired for jealousy, not to mention, where he was going he wouldn't need much sleep.

_To Sovengarde,_ he thought sadly.

He stood next to Rashka, and was able to see just how truly tall the Khajit was when standing. He was easily six and a half feet tall, with broad shoulders and a puffed out chest. He was intimidating, so that even the imperials made sure to stay a little ways away. After the small thieve that had also been on his wagon made the mistake of trying to run only to be mercilessly cut down and Ulfric was called away, Rashka was forced to walk forward as an oddity.

A cocky looking soldier gave the Khajiit a strange glance, "Who are you? Your name's not on the list."

"Oh. . . that," Rashka smiled sheepishly, "Is their a name like Vulvan Theomore?"

The imperial looked at the list and his eyebrows arched in surprise, "Their is, but how did you. . ."

The imperial captain next to the soldier broke in, "It doesn't matter, bring him to the Executioner's Block, now!"

The imperial scrambled over his words hurriedly, "Of course captain, " He pointed to his right, "Follow the captain prisoner, we'll make sure your remains get to Elsweyr."

"I'll make sure to remember that when I'm haunting you in your dreams imperial," Rashka spat as he stalked off toward the Execution Block."

Several Stormcloak soldiers chuckled mockingly while the imperial's face reddened. The imperial captain scowled demonically, "Enough of this foolery, continue speaking names."

The soldier cleared his throat and continued rattling off names. Ralof's name was called two names later, and as he trudged off along the same route Rashka had treaded only a few minutes before he looked over his shoulder and then down at the ground, bitterly spitting, "Imperials love their damn lists."

"Hurry up prisoner," The imperial captain barked from behind him, rudely shoving him in the shoulder, "General Tullius is waiting."

Ralof stormed over to the square where the executions were starting in earnest. A half dozen Stormcloak corpses littered the ground, and another body was about to be thrown in. A man was bowed over the bloodied head basket, cursing every imperial emperor Ralof had ever heard of. The swift chop of the Executioner's axe brought an end to the Stormcloak's cursing. Ralof flinched at the disgusting sound that sounded from the brutal decapitation. He trudged over to the line of prisoners, stopping next to Rashka, which put him fourth in line. Ulfric Stormcloak was being held in a circle of guards near General Tullius completely seperate from the other prisoners. Ralof knew why, they feared a sudden revolt if Ulfric managed to gain back command of his forces and start an attack. While that pleased him somewhat, he was distracted by Rashka's furious mutterings next to him. Despite straining to hear him, Ralof could only catch bits and pieces of the Khajiit's incessant mutterings.

". . . Lazy bastard. . . never around when I need him. . . damn World-Eater. . . damnit. . . **AI-DU-IN!**"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Ralof hissed.

"It's a long story."

The Stormcloak in front of Rashka was dragged up to the basket and forced down to his knees. The Executioner raised his axe, but paused as a distant scream echoed through the sky. Dark clouds began to form and lightning started to fork outward across the sky, lighting up the sky with every whip of blindingly white lightning. Imperials looked up at the sky nervously as rain began to fall and the storm clouds gathered together into a swirling hurricane of darkness that entirely encompassed the blue sky and shrouded the sun from view. The clouds parted minutely, and out came a massive shape of blackness that swiftly raced toward Helgen at an almost blistering speed. The shape was distorted by a sudden burst of light that flew forward and smashed down onto the tower directly behind the Executioner.

Bodies were thrown about like ragdolls and Ralof was knocked off his feet onto the solid ground, the breath knocked out of him as his head crashed against the earth. For several moments he struggled to stand, but with his bonds still entwined with his hands even that simple task was frustratingly impossible. The Stormcloak ground his teeth together in anger and struggled to atleast sit up as another explosion caused heat to wrap around him like a blanket. Sweat formed on his brow instantly, and his armor began to sag with sweat. A paw grabbed his collar and hoisted him up and he came face to face with Rashka, who had somehow gotten free of his bonds. Rashka's paw slashed against his bonds, severing them instantly and freeing his hands. Ralof let out a sigh of relief, and quickly followed Rashka as they sprinted toward the closest towers. The dark shape flew over them, and Ralof was compelled to look up, and then immediately stopped in his tracks, stunned.

It was a bloody _dragon! _Ralof's eyes widened to the size of saucers as he gazed upon the scaly and black skin of the dragon as it soared through the air, its wingspan almost fifty feet from wing tip to wing tip. Its hide was covered wildly in super sharp spikes and its massive head was topped with eight foot tall horns. It turned about and landed atop the guard tower that he and Rashka were currently sprinting toward. It's demonic eyes glared down angrily at the two of them as they halted, and it opened its maw until Ralof could see clear down its throat.

The Stormcloak expected flames to roar toward them and incinerate them both, but instead of flames, what left the dragon's mouth was perfect english, "I have arrived Dovahkiin, the might of the World-Eater is upon you!"

Its voice was so dark and powerful that Ralof could only cower, but Rashka stayed his ground courageously in the face of utter destruction, "Yeah, becuase I called you here. You weren't getting very far without me were you."

The dragon bellowed and reared up onto its haunches, making it almost thirty feet tall, "You are a fool Dovahkiin! You stand in th face of your own decimation, and yet you remain defiant in the face of my power, the mighty **Alduin!**"

"Well, good to see your ego hasn't improved since the last time we fought," Rashka mocked back, "But of course it hasn't, you are the mighty Alduin."

Ralof looked between the two with bewilderment, "You've fought him before?"

Alduin suddenly snapped his head around and stared at the Stormcloak, sending pulses of power directly into Ralof's soul, burning his heart away like it was nothing and the Nord gasped. Rashka stepped in front of him and screamed, "**FUS RO DAH!" **

A blast of blue power flew from Rashka's open mouth, flying toward Alduin at a speed that Ralof could barely track in his burning state. The massive dragon roared in defiance in the face of the new threat, but was cut off as the power slammed into it, knocking it backwards off the tower and onto the ground, creating a thunderous shake as it landed. Fire toar into the sky, alighting the back part of the tower. Screams of fear and terror began to sound louder from down in the village, and Ralof couldn't blame them. He felt ready to scream in fear to. Rashka turned, looking disturbingly unperturbed by the day's events, and stared at the Stormcloak with a diamond hard stare, "We should probably get out of here before Alduin recovers from that Thu'um," He gestured toward the tower, "Shall we?"

000

The minute Ralof stepped into the inn, he was aware of piercing eyes on the side of his head. Slowly, casually, he turned around and locked eyes with a tall Khajiit that immediately set off flares of recognition in his mind. He smiled at Rashka, but his jubilation was not returned by the cat's incredibly gloomy expression. He walked over to the table and seated himself across from him, his smile still glued onto his face, "My friend, it's good to see you again."

"Stormcloak," Rashka replied dourly, his mouth twisted into a frown of mourning, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were using that metaphorical cloak of yours to stalk me across Skyrim, or am I wrong again?"

"Again?" Ralof asked confusedly, "Just what did you do wrong? In fact, you seem rather sad Rashka, does that have to do with you did."

The Khajiit reached over and loosely grabbed a small cup of mead, bringing it to his lips to drink, "I do believe you just won a thousand septims, Stormcloak. . . congratulations."

"I do have a name you know. . . wait a minute, don't try to distract me from the topic."

"It's not my fault you have the attention span of a mudcrab,"Rashka growled.

Ralof shook his head with some amusement, "You're drunk aren't you?"

The cat shook his head fervently and almost threw himself out of his chair, "I prefer inebriated."

"That's the same thing."

"So?"

"Bah!" Ralof replied, exasperated, "You really must be drunk. I must say I never took you as the drinking type."

"Lydia!" Rashka cried out suddenly, drawing several eyes toward their tables. The inn keeper pinched the bridge of her nose in annoyance, "Why'd she have to die, damnit!"

Rolaf shook his head and reached over to smack the blubbering Khajiit in the side of the head, "get a hold of yourself, man. All this over a woman?"

"Best woman ever," The cat muttered dejectedly, "And best warrior ever to. Or maybe not, considering she's dead now."

"By Ysmir, you're hopeless," Ralof stood up and went over to the Khajiit, pulling the depressed cat out of his chair and hauling him away. Contrary to what the Stormcloak believed would happen, Rashka didn't try to resist. He dropped a few septims down onto the table to pay for the drinks and managed to pull the Khajiit toward the upstairs room, all the while calling to the inn keeper, "Ten gold for a room upstairs," and tossed a pouch of gold at her.

The inn keeper nodded as he pulled Rashka up to the rooms and managed to push him into the bed. The Khajiit pouted, irritated, "I'm not sleepy."

"Don't care, try to sleep off the drunkeness," He closed the door and walked downstairs to reserve a table for him and his buddies, his original reason for coming into town.

Seven hours later, when he opened the door to the inn room, all he found was an empty bed and a small puddle of puke mixed with hairballs.


End file.
